Empty Spiral
by Chemical Ghost
Summary: What is it about watching another fall that moves us so? ObiWan, OC
1. I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own SW. (Surprise!)

* * *

My name is Faith and I survived Empire Day. The war had been on for three frightful, exhausting years, and it ended rather explosively. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine declared himself emperor. He had always appeared to be a great leader, but there was something fishy about him, something even someone as woefully average as me could feel. I suppose we pathetic beings are more gullible than we thought.

The Jedi Order turned on the republic and attempted to take over. Fortunately, our clone army managed to get things under control and _neutralize_ them. That's what they tell us, at least, which is a load of bantha crap. I could be labeled a traitor for even saying these things – so much for freedom of speech – but this new Empire can kiss my scrawny white rear end for all I care.

What I'm trying to say is that there is no way that could be true. If the Jedi really had been trying to take over, they would have done it years ago. Why now? I'd say they'd have been at a disadvantage now that the war had them scattered in every corner of the galaxy. I know for certain that Lani would never have taken part in such a thing. She was always the righteous one.

Then there's the fact that I was there. I could see the smoke billowing from the temple. Convenient, isn't it, that they never left the place? I watched the clone troopers literally turn on them and shoot them down. Watched them shoot _her _down. I got caught in the crossfire.

I want to cling to a feeble hope that Lani somehow survived, but even she is not immortal. The dreadful image won't stop flashing in my eyes. It hasn't given me respite since that day. Lani, sprawled on the hot, sooty, bloodstained concrete, her graceful body charred and broken, her pale, slender limbs dislocated, her elegant face marred by slashes and bruises, weeping thin lines of blood…the bleeding sun searing my face…I wish she had been born as ordinary as me.

I left Coruscant shortly afterward. I never liked the place, and it did not get any more pleasant after the war. Security was tighter, for one thing, and there was this…feeling hanging in the air. It was a desolation that smothered everything like some vile dark shroud. Coruscant just wasn't home anymore.

I packed my bags and got my butt to Alderaan. I found a rather nice place in the outskirts of Aldera. It's a medium-sized flat with a nice colour scheme on the walls and a huge window, giving one a full view of the nature outside. Yes, nature! It's quite a refreshing sight after an entire lifetime (twenty-nine years, to be exact) of dusty, grimy spires and far too much metal for my taste. The buildings here are smooth white, you can see the sun and you can see plenty of green outside.

There is a down side. This place is quite expensive. Fortunately, I have a considerable stash of money to get me through life – lot of good it will do me now – until I find another job. _Un_fortunately, it was through a mutually beneficial agreement that I decided to share this apartment with a complete stranger. For some odd reason, probably Empire-related, this rather neutral planet has attracted quite a few immigrants. Here at the capital, places to stay are scarce and, as I mentioned, pricey, so it was a smart choice. I think.

All I know about my future flatmate is that he's an attractive human male some five years my senior, coming from Coruscant as well, from the same district, in fact. We were on the same transport en route to Alderaan. He looked as tired, alone and stressed out as I felt, so I started a tentative, polite conversation, which led to our little agreement. He had some business to take care of, so he's only arriving here sometime today.

oOo

"Come in…This is as much your house as it is mine. Whoever left here seem to have left some furniture behind – looks like someone was in a hurry – but we'll still have to go shopping." I hoped he was better at decorating than I was. As if in response, he smirked, but that expression did not belong on his face. His…Who was he, again?

"I'm sorry, I…I forgot your name." And what a wonderful beginning that was. He offered another small smile that just did not look right. And he paused; why did he pause?

"Garen Muln," There was a hollowness in his eyes, but it quickly faded.

"Pleased to meet you, Faith." I could feel my face heating up. Yes, a wonderful start. He had remembered my name, but I could hear a tinge of irony in the word _Faith. _This time, he had not bothered to force a smile. I felt the indignation burning in my cheeks – what had I done to deserve his sarcasm?

I swallowed my humiliation and disappeared into the kitchen to make some caf. We sat down to discuss the fine print, but that eventually led to that horrible form of conversation we call small talk. The silence was too oppressive and I had to say something, so, typical of me, I blurted out the most tactless thing that could have slipped from my mouth.

"So, why are _you _here?"

"I don't know. I never did like existential questions."

Again with that sickly grin, but this time it was almost genuine. Either he was getting better at this or he was dropping the façade. Nevertheless, I giggled like an idiot and the ice was broken.

I almost saw some life flood back into his pale, drawn face. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked a lot like General Kenobi without the beard. A profound sadness filled me as I realized that the man had died with all the others. Had he died fighting, like Lani? Did someone cry for him as I cried for Lani?

I suppressed a shiver and pushed the thoughts away. The pain only came when there was a thought to dredge it up.

"Smartass. I worked at a government research lab before…well, before. Interesting job, and well paid. I'm not trying to be political, but there's no way in hell I'm working for them. It's just..." I wanted to throw myself onto him and cry my eyes out. His eyes were mirrors.

"I know," _Do you know death? Do you know the emptiness? Do the battered corpses of your loved ones haunt you? _He looked dead again. His eyes were sunken pits of nothing. It was irrational, but I felt responsible. But he couldn't hear my thoughts. Only Lani could do that.

The silence strangled us both. There was a gloom that hung in the air, and the brilliant fake smile I flashed did nothing to dispel it.

"I'm a wanted criminal."

I hoped he was not being serious.


	2. II

A couple of days have passed and I don't think I like him very much. I don't mean that I'm supposed to love him – but I doubt that my irritation and dislike for him is a good sign. After all, I will be living with this person for a while.

I hate his wit. It makes me physically ill. His disgusting self-confidence makes me bristle – who the hell does he think he is? Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against sarcasm, but with his, vague discomfort follows, and I feel dreadfully inadequate. He has the amazing talent of making me look like a damn fool. Maybe it's just my own flaws coming through. They always rear their ugly heads when I least expect them to. I'm just being intolerant. I suppose that's not what truly irritates me.

He's too much like her. I see her in him. I see her in his assertive stride – no, not quite the same; nothing's ever the same…I see her in that infuriatingly calm demeanor. I hear her when he speaks. I wish I could hate him.

Because it feels like he's stealing her from me, piece by piece, ripping away little parts of her, until I will be left with but a ghost of a memory. It feels like he is trying to take her place in this Sith-forsaken universe. I want to rage at him for even remotely resembling her. I want to pour my heart out for him to see. I want him to see that my skin is not a thick as it seems. I want to crush his skull with my bare hands. Because he has no right.

oOo

Coruscant's nights are bright and hazy, restless and feverish. The light pollution shields you from any stars you could see among spindly towers. There is no night there. Alderaan's are clear and starlit. They are a cool mist on your skin. They are quiet, save for the chirping of insects and the flutter of a breeze against your window. They make you breathe. They make you feel alive.

I stand on a small balcony, soaking in the inspiring view. With nothing better to do, I had lit dozens of slender white candles and bathed in their soft, smooth saffron light. I am not sentimental, but I have always loved candlelight. It rekindles the waning flame inside. It lights one's passion. Passion has been unknown to me for a very long time.

Today, there is a double purpose to my brooding. The candles are in honor of her noble death. _Lani, running amidst flames and falling debris and the eviscerated carcasses of buildings, their jagged metal ribs sticking up like thorns…thorns, thorns embedded in my flesh, in my heart, wispy trickles of blood and tears, flowing, and flowing, never ceasing…._ _Death. _I flinch at the spear of a word. Too sharp. Too precise. Too much.

It's a farewell. It's letting her go. It's setting her free. It's setting me free. I let out a small sigh as I whisper my final words for her.

"Wherever you are, Lani…I hope it's far from here. Else I'd try to join you….I hope it's better than this hell we live in. I do love you, you know. No matter what I said. I never told you. I love you…"

My voice breaks. Before the pain can seep from my eyes, I shift them to the delicate, pointed flames, hot teardrops against the somber face of the night. But fire does not only claw and devour. Fire can heal as much as it can destroy. It cleanses of disease. It fuses wounds.

oOo

The candles still burned bright even as my soul cooled. I sat in pensive, dolorous silence for a very long time. A cool breeze glided along my skin, raising hairs. I drew my sweater tighter around my body. It was getting cold. A lone candle still burned.

I turned to leave and walked right into a wall of…flesh? Hard flesh. I looked up. He looked disheveled. His shirt was open. His eyes were grey today.

"Garen!" The name didn't sound right. Too grey for him. Then again, I was more of a misnomer.

"Sorry," Accompanied by a bleak grimace that could have passed for a small grin. I wished he wouldn't do that.

"There you are. I couldn't find you anywhere…" He trailed off as his eyes widened slightly – just slightly, but I've been told that I'm notorious for studying people. I study things; why not people? My friends have said that I should have gone into psychology.

"You alright?" _Why are you trembling? _He closed his eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine," nervously. "I, ah…I don't like fire."

"Why don't you?" Tactless me to the rescue. Fortunately for me, he shrugged it off.

"There's nothing here that can catch fire. One little flame can't hurt anyone." Whatever it was that I said, it only made things worse. He tried not to show it, but his slight, almost invisible shudder was not lost on me.

"It only takes one to burn down entire forests."

"Phobia?" _Here I go again._ I know I would have been terrible in politics.

A dark cloud drifted over his face.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

It was the first time that I had seen this frosty side of him.

oOo

It was strange and surprisingly unfulfilling to discover a breach in his stoicism. When he entered the balcony, Lani died inside him. The flame killed her. It feels like I murdered her. All I wanted was to tell her that I loved her, that I had never meant to be so bitter and cold…Gods, I'm thinking of her again.

Watching his indifference fracture was not as rewarding as I thought it would be. It left me with a horrible feeling of emptiness, futility and disgust. It's so irrational. I'm all nerves and wayward emotions. I'm being torn apart by millions of pinpoints within me. I am beginning to firmly believe that I am slowly but surely losing my sanity.

I'm sinking into myself. I close my eyes and forget the world. I wallow in my pitiful feelings. I cling to them to ward off the numbness, to fill the gap in me. I have nothing else.

I had never seen such horrendous black fright. The icy white light in his eyes left me chilled. I can only wonder - what ghastly thoughts circle endlessly in his mind? What demons haunt him? What loathsome winds blow in his soul?

He's breaking into my shell. I am seriously beginning to despise him.


	3. III

I don't think this is working out very well. The dislike must be mutual. Another week has zoomed by, no exaggeration, and we managed to find reasons to fight over anything and everything. From the way we were going to furnish the apartment – his style is rather Spartan and mine is nonexistent – to whose turn it was to do something – he's better at cooking than I am - to the fact that he keeps leaving his dirty, smelly socks all over the place. I have come to the conclusion that all men are slobs. We bicker like a married couple. Force forbid. He's a good looking slob, but I wouldn't marry him for all the money in the galaxy. It's Imperial money, anyway.

I have come to realize that he has issues. My job interview is tomorrow. I asked him what he was going to do for a living. There's nothing wrong with a little innocent curiosity, right? He just blinked at me said nothing. I then proceeded to very tactfully ask him if he intended to live off me. He simply said no – no explanation, either. He did not seem too thrilled about my questions. In fact, he looked angry – I could see a beautiful vein pulsating in his forehead.

Then he took a breather, offered me a soft-spoken apology and smiled. A bitter, painful, broken smile, the one I loathe to see. It's a rupture in his mask. Sometimes it lets the sadness through. Every time he does that, something tears through me. Something awakens in me. Something gives me that dreadful sinking feeling. I feel ill.

I hate it when he tries to be enigmatic. I know he's not lying because he keeps disappearing without the slightest warning. Sometimes he's gone just a couple of hours; sometimes for most of the day. So, not only does he have issues, but he has a mysterious occupation. I hope that whatever he's doing isn't illegal.

oOo

I came back from my interview exhausted but in a positive mood. As positive as it could get. I am quite certain that I will get the job. I glanced at my wrist chrono; it was 1800 already. Garen was in the kitchen. I could smell the delicious aroma of simmering vegetables and spices. In the short time I'd known him, I had never seen him handle meat. Just like Lani, I realized with a spike of pain. I had once asked her about it and she had looked at me strangely. I kicked off my shoes and went to help him.

We ate supper in the living room. I had almost lit a candle, but had then thought better of it. It was pretty quiet except for some trivial conversation. After we cleared the dishes, I went to brew some tea – one of our shared creature comforts. When I came back into the room, he was on the other side of the room, examining something.

"Who was she?"

For a moment, it was disconcerting that he had employed the past tense. Then rational thought kicked in. Of course, it was the Jedi robes. The holo was fairly recent, taken only a couple of years ago. She was a slender, radiant woman, nowhere near as plain as me. Wavy black hair cascaded down her back, her skin was tanned bronze and her lively brown eyes sparkled brighter than her smile. Just looking at her drew forth another pang.

"Her name was Lani…She was my sister." This rather obvious fact was harder to announce than I thought it would be. My throat was raw. My voice was scratchy.

"She was always a better person than I was. A part of me wanted her dead."

It was awful. There had been times when I had loathed her, when I had almost wished I could see her mauled, fractured corpse. She had been too gentle, too exquisite, too flawless. I hadn't really hated her, but by the time I had figured it out, it had been too late. Too much had been left unsaid.

"Seems familiar…" He said more to himself than anyone else, looking distant.

"Was she dim-witted?"

I could only gape at him. Of all the things he could have said…I could have slapped him if only I had been without self-control. My reply was forceful and indignant.

"No, of course not! She was very bright."

Oh, how ironic it was that I became so fiercely protective of her once she was gone. He gazed at me with smooth, aqueous blue eyes.

"Then I am certain that she knew your true feelings well before you did."

Something about his words seemed to ease my mind…But he doesn't know who I really am.

oOo

Something horrible had happened. Right here, only a few kilometres away. I had been shaken from my thoughts by a deafening, chaotic noise and a flash of eerily bright light. I had flirted with the notion of going to check it out, but thought better of it. Some ten minutes later, I turned on the news.

As I had suspected, a bombing. As it turned out, someone had blown up the better part of the Royal palace and many buildings that surrounded it – thousands dead, thousands more injured. The footage was gruesome. It was rumored that Viceroy Organa had been killed. A terrorist attack, they said – some nutcase using violence to prove their point to the government.

That would have been a plausible explanation if this had not been Alderaan. Though I hadn't lived here for long, I knew such things were far from commonplace – I had come here for the beauty, and peace, and culture…People here did not like war or destruction of any kind. Either something had changed or there was more to it.

What I strongly suspected – and still hoped it wasn't so – was that it had come from an outside source. It was the most logical answer. While inhabited by many pacifists, this place was not exactly loyal and was far from content with the new order as they termed it. There were whispers of a rebellion – still in the planning stages, but a source of hope for my colleagues. Some of them – Conner, for one, he could never keep his mouth shut – said he would work for them once it took off. I admit it would be rewarding to put my skills to a worthy cause, but I don't know if I would want to get involved.

What if they decided that Alderaan was getting too rebellious for their tastes and chose to remind them of who exactly was in charge – what better way than a strike to its very heart? Nonsense, I thought to myself. My imagination was running away with me. It was too soon. There was not a shred of evidence.

Garen had been out when it happened. I don't know where. He never says where he is going. Over twenty-four hours have passed, and he still hasn't come back.


	4. IV

I hadn't realized that I was pacing a hole in the floor. I had also picked back up an old and very nasty habit of mine and had chewed off my nails. I was tense as a wire and could feel the flesh trembling on my bones.

I had not known that I cared about him enough to worry myself halfway to the grave. Perhaps it was only natural – it would have been pretty heartless of me to be indifferent to whether he lived or died.

I was turning this into a drama – who had said anything about life and death. So he had gone missing for a longer time than usual – perhaps he was a workaholic who had decided to do the night shift as well. This was the second time he had not come back for the night. The events could have easily coincided.

That was what I tried to comfort myself with, but my mind was my worst enemy. Or was that my heart? Whatever it was, it made me conjure up all sorts of horrible images. Garen, lying amidst smoking debris and flames, deep red soaking the cracked, sooty concrete under him, icy white shards of bone rising from his flesh, dead eyes staring up sightlessly….Just like her – if he lived like she had, could he die like her?

"Enough," I said aloud. I couldn't think these things. Not now. That would only make things worse. It was just a stupid coincidence and I had to stop letting my imagination get the better of me. Yet I resumed my pacing.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, thirty seconds. Ten minutes, thirty-five seconds…That was it. I was feeling crazy enough to go out and look for him. Just as I headed for the door, it opened. I heard but did not feel the sigh of relief escape me. I wanted to strangle him.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? Hell, I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!"

"Oh, I have an idea," was his dry retort.

If I hadn't been so glad to see him back in one piece, I would have raged at him some more. Instead, I gave him a once over. He was covered from head to toe in soot. His once black, now ash-grey clothes were torn and drenched with sweat. His hair was in no better shape. His face was also coated with dirt. There were twin clean streaks down his cheeks.

"You were there. You were there when it happened, weren't you?"

He nodded. There were no words to convey what the gesture said. I didn't want to look at his eyes. Instead, I felt my innards suddenly become insubstantial, lost all dignity and self control and hugged him. It didn't matter that I did not know him. I might as well have known his life story.

He was stiff and unresponsive in my embrace. I could feel that he was looking somewhere beyond. I released him, eventually. It had been good while it lasted.

It dawned on me that he should have been back long ago – he didn't look injured to me; I doubted that he could have been caught under debris. Even if he had…I did a double take and saw the blood on his shirt and hands. There was a lot of it. My heart almost leapt into my throat.

"It's not mine," he sighed. I must have been very transparent for him to answer before I asked. Then the reason behind his absence occurred to me. There were still so many missing…I raised an eyebrow, disbelieving.

"You're not going back, are you?"

"I am."

"For stars' sake, don't be stupid…You're dead on your feet." He gazed at me intently, daring me to try and deter him.

"I know, Faith. But I must."

"Why? Have you no self-preservation? _Why?_"

"Because it's my duty. People are dying."

So, he had a hero complex as well…Duty - what is that, but an excuse to be too noble for your own good? I don't know what angered me, or what threw me off balance, but I ended up spewing another thoughtless comment in his face.

"Fine. You do that. Go on, but don't you come back and haunt _me_ once you're gone."

He looked at me, almost sadly. I didn't know whether he was trying to make me feel guilty or was truly offended. Regardless, I felt like a bumbling fool. I blinked, and something changed.

I looked at him again, and saw him for what he was – weary and broken. I could see it on his face, in his stance, in his eyes…Yet he still found the strength to be selfless. I felt a sweltering wave of shame wash over me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that…I just don't want you to get hurt."

He smiled bitterly, ironically, even.

"It's alright. I know you mean well."

He left only a couple of hours afterward. It could have been worse. At least I knew where he was.

oOo

I knew, vaguely, that he was a compassionate man. I could somehow tell that he was honorable, but his dedication surprises me. I am disgusted. Not with him. Someone once said that one who will not die for something is not fit to live.

I am not like him. I don't have a noble cause. I don't care about heroics. I don't put others before myself – my first priority is saving my own skin. Sometimes I even step all over everyone else. I don't venture beyond my own pathetic life.

The truth is that apathy is the only thing I love. If I drop all the masks, lies and deceptions, I don't really care about anything. _No attachments, Lani. One area where I've outdone you. But you're dead._

_Unworthy, _whispers the ghost in my mind. I look within and see what I despise. Vanity. Frivolity. Spite. I don't know who I am anymore. I want to resent him again for making me feel this way, but I can't find it in me. I can only admire and envy him. I can't admire without envy. Just like…

She was so flawless that it hurt me. I could never meet her eyes. I felt like filth at the bottom of a crevice, but she never treated me as such.

oOo

A week passes surreptitiously, sneaking by so discreetly that I barely see it. I don't see much of him, but I respect that. I now wish I was there, with him instead of minding my own stupid business. He's not around much, but it kills me every time he comes back.

There is something sucking the life from him, like a leech draining his blood, slowly, gently, yet so, so painfully. Each time I see him, another fragment is ripped from him, and his face is greyer still. With each return, another shard of light leaves his eyes, and he looks a little deader.

It frightens me. There is a despair that clings to him like a mist. It permeates everything. It radiates from him and seeps into my pores. It clings to our clothes, to the curtains, to my hair... It withers all things - makes them fester and waste away. It crawls beneath my skin, through my flesh; so many icy tendrils brushing against my heart, threatening to reach my very core. There is a gloom about him that stifles everything. It blows out all candles.

The plant in his room is dying. He loves it. He talks to it in calm, quiet tones and waters it every day. I know that, by nature, he will not harm me in any way. I know that he has the best of intentions. Yet my instincts tell me to flee.


	5. V

I awoke to a quiet dawn, an unusual scene to a late riser. I stepped into the kitchen and made some caf; I could never do without the stuff. Garen was (apparently) still asleep. A good thing, because he had come back just before midnight. No amount of short naps can replace a good night's rest and stubborn as he was, I had managed to convince him to stay awhile.

I skipped breakfast – I hadn't eaten at this hour since I was a teenager – finished my caf and slipped into my shoes. I had no excuse for sitting around on such a gorgeous morning. A walk would do me good.

Outside I was quite alone, and things were calmer this way. Nothing obstructed my connection to the nature I had grown so enamored with. I reached a field of untamed grasses, lush with the little drops of dew sparkling atop the blades, like tears on emerald daggers. I could see a fine dusting of violet and yellow from some wildflowers I do not know the name of. Among the grass were rocks occurring at more and more frequent intervals; further away the grass was sparser, and dotted with crimson blooms.

I kicked off my shoes and spread my toes into the ground, feeling the blades tickle my soles. I was tempted to let myself fall and lie there in the green, staring drunkenly at the fresh, still golden sky. I would have, had I not realized that someone was there. Not next to me, but walking among the rocks and bloody flowers. It was a thin figure, clad darkly; with reddish hair…What was he doing here?

I crept closer, sneaking up to him. His ocean gaze was fixed emptily on everything and nothing, lightyears away. Perhaps in deep thought, he did not seem aware of my presence. His face was a mask of nonchalance, but I have come to know that face. It's the one he puts on when he can't afford to let the feelings bleed through. I silently wondered what tormented him so.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he blinked mournfully, irises raging like stormy seas. Very softly, vulnerably, he spoke.

"What made you do it? Why did you throw it all away?'

I felt like I was inside a dream. I opened my mouth and almost said something. Was he speaking to me? Do what? Throw what away? Perhaps he was the one dreaming. _Must be the lack of sleep slowly driving him mad. _I recoiled at the vile thoughtand felt the shame seethe inside me.

"I killed you. You killed me." He closed his eyes, tightly. A tiny silver orb sparkled on his lashes. When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with an agonizing brightness. Deep within me, an ache flared.

"You killed me, Anakin."

Anakin? Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear…_Kenobi_ and Skywalker. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-kriffing-Wan Kenobi.

…_I'm a wanted criminal…Seems familiar…Because it's my duty…_

_Lani, running through flames and rubble, 'sabre alight, dodging a barrage of blaster bolts, leaping over debris…failing to block the next one, falling as they all pierce her slender torso, her death cry ringing out, echoing against the buildings…_

_Jedi. Traitor. Alone._

It made sense. It made terrible sense. The way he spoke, the way he walked…That weary look in his eyes…His periodic disappearances? – Could he be part of the fledgling rebellion my colleagues liked to talk about? What else would a Jedi Master be doing on Alderaan?

"What are you doing here?"

He turned and looked straight at me. I wondered if he had just realized that I was there.

"I can't sleep."

"Why? You haven't slept in days…"

He offered me a wan smile. I looked away, just so that I wouldn't have to see it.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see…things. And I wish I hadn't."

"You're not really Garen Muln, are you?"

Maybe he knew his cover was blown and made no effort to keep things from me. Maybe he trusted me enough to drop it – unlikely, but possible. Maybe he was beyond caring. He shook his head.

"No. He was an old friend of mine. He died when my best friend betrayed us all. He betrayed us because I failed him. Then I failed his wife and children."

His words were deadpan. He could have been saying anything. He did not need to say who "they" were. He was surprisingly calm about it – was it because he knew that I would not sell out one of her kind?

"You really are a wanted man…" I smirked in spite of it all. I am about as subtle as a fifteen year-old, and this shortcoming of mine comes out at the very worst of times. But why now? Why now?

"Your world is gone."

With all he'd done, it would have been difficult for him to be stupid. I was relieved when he knew that I was trying to voice my understanding.

"What are you going to do?"

His eyes misted over. I was sorry I'd asked.

"I don't know."

oOo

The Negotiator or not, he is still the same guy. He is not the flashy, unbreakable image we used to see on the HoloNet and now often see on those glossy, propaganda-reeking wanted posters – that is just an idea, a symbol. This is a real person with the ability to laugh and cry who likes strong alcoholic beverages and abhors anything bright purple. He is as human as I am.

But lately, this person has been fading. There is a void in his pupils, and it is spreading like some horrible disease. Diseases have a way of destroying all they touch. He's withdrawing into whatever barren hole his mind lives in. How ironic it is that there is nothing I would not give for an ounce of his dry, cynical humour.

He doesn't speak anymore. All he does is stare, infusing the air with the desolation on his face. He doesn't eat, even though he's thinner than when I met him. He doesn't sleep. Sometimes he lies awake, eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling, but he does not dare close them. I find myself wondering if he is still on this plane. I am chilled. I am no longer scared of him. I'm scared _for_ him.


	6. VI

I hate being useless – like sitting in my body, watching myself do things, hearing myself speak, feeling myself move, but none of these actions are motivated by my own will. What I am feeling is something similar, but not quite it. I'm not away from my body. I'm away from my mind. I hear my idle, frivolous thoughts. I feel the heavy, sinking guilt drift over me and gently brush against me. I try to swat it away, like an insect. It still flutters in the bottom of my heart. I try to crush it. It is rock hard. It never ceases.

From the outside, I watch things unfold. These events seem to pass me by. I'm not a part of them, just a spectator. I watch and take it for granted. It grows quiet here. Every time I step into our apartment, a draft creeps across my skin. It doesn't feel like home anymore. There's an emptiness there never was before.

There's a fear deep inside me, a silent dread that whispers again and again that which, deep down, I know. What I'm watching is a downfall. A quiet demise. It looms over him, descending slowly, inexorably. And I feel clumsy in my skin. I don't know what to do.

oOo

I touch the door, reluctant to intrude. It slides open. The sun bleeds its last, slowly sinking beneath the horizon. Through the window, bittersweet rays enter and spill across his face. He is sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, wearier than ever, skin washed out, eyes clear but unfocused, staring up into nothing. Has he heard me come in? I hesitate.

"Obi-Wan…?" It still sounds strange, but all too fitting. He blinks but does not spare me a glance. Not a word. I stifle a sigh.

"Are you alright?" I only hear myself breathing. Then I realize the absurdity of the question.

"I know you're not alright. But this can't go on." I could be speaking to the wall, or the dried, withered remains of the plant, silhouetted against the bloodshot hues in the window. There is something dark and dreadful creeping into my eyes…because that's death I'm seeing. I swallow the hard, painful lump in my throat.

"Say something…Give me a sign. I know you're still alive, so act it!"

For no reason at all, I feel myself bleed inside. I feel the pain rising, rising in my chest, up my throat, choking me…He blinks and finally looks at me.

"I just want to be left alone. Please…Just let me be." So faintly that I want to give in.

"I'll be right back," I say.

I step back into the kitchen. My pulse is quickening; my mind is racing. I take a deep breath, but my lungs tremble. I wish I was strong.

I turn on the kettle and get out the tea, one of my favourite blends, white tea with a gentle floral aroma. Tea always calms me down when I am upset. I pour the scalding hot water onto the leaves and almost drop the pot.

I walk back into the room. The sun has sunken further. The light is colder. He seems oblivious, only seeing the space between him and the ceiling.

"I brought tea…It always warms me up when I'm cold inside."

He shakes his head and smiles ironically. A sign of life, no less.

"Tea can't help me now."

It alarms me – the beautiful, chilling frailty in his voice, the pallor of his skin…He turns his gaze on mine. His eyes shine like smooth glass pebbles, irises a luminous blue with tiny dark points at the center, ready to vanish at any given moment.

"I'm dying, Faith." He says this mildly, eloquently, with resigned acceptance, making my fear a reality. My eyes burn with moisture that will soon streak down my face. I can't make it go away. I am no longer ashamed of my weakness. I wear it on my sleeve.

I wish…I don't know what I wish. Whatever it is, it is selfish. Wishes do nothing. You close your eyes and will something to happen, but every time you do this, your plea to whatever higher power might exist goes unheard. Wishes cannot change the universe. Even actions cannot.

"Why? You're not supposed to die – your body's fine…isn't it?"

He shakes his head.

"The explosives they used…They weren't mere explosives. Chemical weapon, I suppose…"

I can't figure out how he manages to stay so calm. Perhaps he has seen this coming. Perhaps it changes nothing for him.

"But you can fight it, right..?"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Why can't he? _You're supposed to be powerful…You're supposed to be next to immortal!_

For once, I wish he was not human. I wish he was unfeeling. I wish I was unfeeling. I wish I didn't love him. I bend down to kiss him, but he wordlessly warns me not to.

"I don't want you to die. If you do, I'll die," I sob, the words blending together in a mass of anguish.

He touches my hand, and I see. I see within his body; I see the disease in him. I see everything breaking down, dying; I see the toxicity, the decrepitude, the decay. I feel the frigid black void, teeming with blight. I shiver as I almost feel it burrow into my flesh. And I bleed for him.

Then my vision shifts, and I'm warm again. There is something smooth, light and flowing ; it fills every dark corner of my soul; it ignites everything; it is rich and colourful with life; it is a vast expanse that penetrates everything, revealing all yet hiding so many things. The strands are always shifting, like waves...He is drowning in it. He smiles sadly and goes under, never to reemerge.

I break contact. I touch his face, stiff and lifeless, still warm but cold with death. _Obi-Wan…Why did you leave me here, all alone? Only now do I know true emptiness._

oOo

I burned his body, as they do with his kind, in the field where the bloody flowers bloom, where I first found out who he was. It was the least I could do for him.

Looking back, I now see how much he's taught me in the short time I knew him – about life, about myself…He showed me how to love. Truly love, not just to attempt to kindle the flame and live in delusion. He showed me what it was like - he showed me what I had envied for so long. It was his final gift to me...It was liberation.

He sneaked into my heart and with his departure tore a raw, bloody, tattered hole in it. I miss him greatly. So much that each breath I take flares with pain. He will never be forgotten. Even after I am gone, he will live on. Because death is not the end. It is an eternity. It is a beginning.


End file.
